635 




BUSHING COMPANY 



Successful Rural Plays 

A Strong List From Which to Select Your 
Next Play 

FARM FOLKS. A Rural Play in Four Acts, by Arthur 
Lewis Tubbs. For five male and six female characters. Time 
of playing, two hours and a half. One simple exterior, two 
easy interior scenes. Costumes, modern. Flora Goodwin, a 
farmer's daughter, is engaged to Philip Burleigh, a young New 
Yorker. Philip's mother wants him to marry a society woman, 
and by falsehoods makes Flora believe Philip does not love her. 
Dave Weston, who wants Flora himself, helps the deception by 
intercepting a letter from Philip to Flora. She agrees to marry 
Dave, but on the eve of their marriage Dave confesses, Philip 
learns the truth, and he and Flora are reunited. It is a simple 
plot, but full of speeches and situations that sway an audience 
alternately to tears and to laughter. Price, 25 cents. 

HOME TIES. A Rural Play in Four Acts, by Arthur 
, Lewis Tubbs. Characters, four male, five female. Plays two 
hours and a half. Scene, a simple interior — same for all four 
acts. Costumes, modern. One of the strongest plays Mr. Tubbs 
has written. Martin Winn's wife left him when his daughter 
Ruth was a baby. Harold Vincent, the nephew and adopted son 
of the man who has wronged Martin, makes love to Ruth Winn. 
She is also loved by Len Everett, a prosperous young farmer. 
When Martin discovers who Harold is, he orders him to leave 
Ruth. Harold, who does not love sincerely, yields. Ruth dis- 
covers she loves Len, but thinks she has lost him also. Then 
he comes back, and Ruth finds her happiness. Price 25 cents. 

THE OLD NEW HAMPSHIRE HOME. A New 

England Drama in Three Acts, by Frank Dumont. For seven 
males and four females. Time, two hours and a half. Costumes, 
modern. A play with a strong heart interest and pathos, yet rich 
in humor. Easy to act and very effective. A rural drama of 
the "Old Homstead" and "Way Down East" type. Two ex- 
terior scenes, one interior, all easy to set. Full of strong sit- 
uations and delightfully humorous passages. The kind of a play 
everybody understands and likes. Price, 25 cents. 

THE OLD DAIRY HOMESTEAD. A Rural Comedy 
in Three Acts, by Frank Dumont. For five males and four 
females. Time, two hours. Rural costumes. Scenes rural ex- 
terior and interior. An adventurer obtains a large sum of money 
from a farm house through the intimidation of the farmer's 
niece, whose husband he claims to be. Her escapes from the 
wiles of the villain and his female accomplice are both starting 
and novel. Price, 15 cents. 

A WHITE MOUNTAIN BOY. A Strong Melodrama in 
Five Acts, by Charles Townsend. For seven males and four 
females, and three supers. Time, two hours and twenty minutes. 
One exterior, three interiors. Costumes easy. The hero, a 
country lad, twice saves the life of a banker's daughter, which 
results in their betrothal. A scoundrelly clerk has the banker 
in his power, but the White Mountain boy finds a way to check- 
mate his schemes, saves the banker, and wins the girl. Price 
15 cents. 

THE PENN PUBLISHING COMPANY 

PHILADELPHIA 



Borrowers' Day 

A Rural Comedy in One Act 



By 
JESSIE E. HENDERSON 




PHILADELPHIA 

THE PENN PUBLISHING COMPANY 

1916 






Copyright 1916 by The Penn Publishing Company 



©CI.D 4 5587 

Borrowers' Day DEC ~5 1916 



Borrowers' Day 



CHARACTERS 



Fred Burnham 

Deacon Dodge . 
Nathan Burnham 

Samuel Hyde 

Martin Jennings 

Mrs. Burnham 

Mrs. Hyde . 

Mks. Grant . 
Mks. Dodge 



Kitty Hyde . 
Myrtilla Montmorenci 



who has not see ft the village for 
three years 

a peppery pillar of the church 

friendly to Hyde when Mrs. 
B. isn't looking 

fond of Burnham behind Mrs. 
H.'s back 

nephew of Mrs. Grant, en- 
gaged to Kitty 

Fred 's mother, and no friend 
to Mrs. Hyde 

who is convinced Fred is a 
scoundrel 
. fat, comfortable, gossipy 

President of the Ladies' Society 
for the Suppression of Friv- 
olous Literature 

who still wears Fred's ring 

the village poetess — who started 
the feud 

Place. — Borrowdale Village. 

Time. — The present. 

Time of Playing. — Thirty minutes. 



STORY OF THE PLAY 

It is Borrowers' Day in the village, and every one is sup- 
posed to bring borrowed articles to Mrs. Dodge's house. 
The deacon gets back his umbrella, and finds it has the 
parson's name on it. Mrs. Hyde returns " Lady Gerald- 
ine's Past," which every one has read and no one will accept. 

3 



4 CAST AND COSTUMES 

A false "switch," a counterfeit half dollar, and a box of 
rouge cause embarrassment to their owners. Fred Burnham 
comes back after an absence of three years to find Martin 
has borrowed Kitty Hyde's heart. He also finds a feud 
between the Hydes and Burnhams. Mrs. Hyde accuses 
Fred of having stolen a cake from her pantry the night he 
went away. Kitty is cool, but Fred finds she still wears his 
ring. She quarrels with Martin, and Fred has his chance. 
Then Myrtilla, the absent-minded poetess, remembers that 
she was the one who borrowed the cake. The feud is over, 
and Kitty's heart finds a new borrower. 



CAST AND COSTUMES 

Mrs. Deacon Dodge. Flustered by the responsibility 
of having so much company all at once. A prim lady, 
rather nervous. President of the Ladies' Society for the 
Suppression of Frivolous Literature. Middle-aged. 

Deacon Dodge. Shrewd business man, high temper. 
White hair and beard — typical country deacon -farmer. 

Mrs. Grant. Fat, comfortable, gossipy. A widow of 
middle-age. 

Martin Jennings. Her nephew; a "smart Aleck"; 
young ; countrified ; awkward ; in love with Kitty. 

Mrs. Hyde. Mother of Kitty; quick-tempered; snappish 
in manner ; leader of a feud against the Burnhams. 

Mr. Hyde. Good-natured ; hen-pecked ; friendly to 
Mr. Burnham when his wife isn't looking. 

Kitty Hyde. The village belle; engaged to Martin 
Jennings. Well-dressed. 

Mrs. Burnham. Envious of the Hydes and leader of 
the feud against them ; catty ; choleric. Mother of Freddie. 
Her tone is usually injured and melancholy. 

Mr. Burnham. Fond of Mr. Hyde, when his wife isn't 
round ; meek ; always speaks gently, as if afraid of Mrs. 
Burnham. 

Freddie Burnham. In love with Kitty Hyde ; a pro- 
gressive young man who has a sense of humor. Well- 
dressed. 

Myrtilla Montmorenci. Village poetess ; dreamy ; 
fantastic ; lamentably absent-minded. 



PROPERTIES 5 

The action takes place in Mrs. Deacon Dodge's sitting- 
room, which is an ordinary farmhouse " parlor." The 
characters, with the exception of Myrtilla, are dressed in 
ordinary clothes with countrified touches. The women 
wear aprons and sunbonnets or old straw hats. Deacon 
Dodge has a red bandanna around his neck. Martin's 
clothes do not fit well. Freddie and Kitty are well-dressed. 
Myrtilla has a Grecian or other fantastic costume, a wreath 
in her hair, which is " slicked" back tightly in absurd con- 
trast to her floral ornament ; she wears nose glasses that 
continually drop off. 



PROPERTIES 

For Mrs. Dodge. A large jardiniere filled with cut 
flowers or branches, or ferns. The foliage must be large 
and thick enough to hide the face of a person standing be- 
hind it. Box of rouge and powder-puff. 

For Fred. Dress suit case. 

Myrtilla. Paper and pencil. A large cake. 

Mrs. Hyde. Book, the size of an ordinary novel. It is 
bound in a stiff cover, over which is drawn a heavy paper 
or cambric wrapper. Inside the wrapper is a folded note. 

Martin. Umbrella. Coins in pocket. 

Kitty. Two rings. Locket. 

Mrs. Burnham. False hair. 

Mrs. Grant. Half dollar, supposed to be counterfeit. 



SCENE PLOT 

SCENE PLOT 



INTERIOR OR EXTERIOR BACKING 




DOOR 


\ 


o O tablb 

I CHAIR 




V 


1 Q CHAIR 

1 /s 




DOOR 1 


/ /sofa 




WflA£ | | 


O CHAIR 




CHAIR O 



SCENE. — Mrs. Dodge's "front room" or sitting-room. 
Door up c. leads outside the house. Door l. leads to 
dining-room. Table and chair up r. Sofa and chair 
down r. Small table and chair down L. Other simple 
furnishings that might be found in a country house. The 
play may be successfully given without formal scenery. 



Borrowers' Day 



SCENE. — Front room at Mrs. Deacon Dodge's. 

(As the curtain rises there is a knock at the door c. At almost 
the same moment Mrs. Dodge enters l. with a jardiniere 
in her arms ; the jar din ere is jilted with a huge bouquet of 
jiowers and branches which, as she hugs it to her, completely 
blocks her view. She proceeds cautiously toward the ta- 
ble. There is another knock at the door c., and then be- 
fore Mrs. D. has a chance to speak Fred Burn ham 
pishes it open. ) 

Mrs. D. (halting up l. c., and trying in vain to peer 
round or through the bouquet ; startled by the opening of 
the door). Heavenly day ! 

Fred. Yes. Isn't it? 

Mrs. D. Oh, howdy do, Parson Smith? My! You 
putty nigh scairt me ! (The jardiniere begins to slip.) 

Fred {setting suit-case on jloor and coming down c). 
Let me help you. (Grasps the other side of jardiniere.) 

Mus. D. Thank ye, parson. (Notices his hands ; gives 
a little scream.) Them ain't Parson Smith's hands. I say, 
them ain't his hands ! 

Fred. Now that you call my attention to them, I'm not 
sure that they are. 

Mrs. D. (much flustered). You ain't the parson. I 
say you ain't ! 

Fked. I know it. 

Mrs. D. Then who be ye? (Tries to peer through 
branches or around them. Retreats a few steps down l., 
and Fred — still grasping the other side of jardiniere — -fol- 
lows.) I — T — I don't want to buy nothin'. 

Fred. That's fortunate. Because I haven't a thing that 
I want to sell. 



8 BORROWERS DAY 

Mrs. D. (still more flustered}. If it's food you're after, 
just step 'round to the kitchen door 

Fred. Thank you, Mrs. Dodge. I'm not at all hungry. 

Mrs. D. (backing down to a, Fred following ; she faces 
L. ; he faces R.). Who be ye, anyways? Tell me right 
away, or — or — or I'll holler for my husband. 

Fred (simulating alarm and trembling so that he shakes 
the jardiniere'). Don't ! Please ! 

Mrs. D. (relenting'). Maybe you wanted to return 
somethin' ? 

Fred. Return something? But I haven't taken any- 
thing. 

Mrs. D. It's Borrowers' Day, you know. Wasn't they 
somethin' you wanted to bring back ? 

Fred. Yes. I want to bring back your memory of a 
troublesome little tyke that always used to chew gum in 
Sunday school — though you told him where bad little boys 
would go. 

Mrs. D. But — but — they wasn't never no tramp in my 
Sunday-school class ! (Fred laughs.) Let me set these 
flowers down on the table, so's I can see what you are, any- 
how 

(She backs up r. toward the table with great caution. Fred 
follows, still holding the other side of the jardiniere. At 
the table she slowly a?id timidly lowers the bouquet.) 

Fred. Booh ! 

Mrs. D. (shrieking and jumping, then recognizing him). 
Fred-die Burn-ham ! It ain't ! It can't be ! Bless my 
stars ! You've scairt me just about to death. Why, I ain't 
seen you for three years, and you're just as big a tease as 
ever. (Wrings his hand.) Where you ben all this time ? 
Where you ben, I say ? 

(Fred leads her dotvn c.) 

Fred. In the place where bad little boys go to. (Mrs. D. 
is shocked.) New York. 

Mrs. D. Seems to agree with you, anyways. Set down. 
(She sits on sofa down r. He brings chair and sits.) I 
heard you was there, though your maw kept kinda quiet 
about where you was, you droppin' outa sight so sudden 
like (Stops in confusion.) 



BORROWERS DAY 9 

Fred (a trifle sadly). Yes. I dropped out of sight. 
" Sudden like." There were reasons 

Mrs. D. Don't you say another word. I don't believe 
a thing Mis' Hyde says about you, even if you did steal it. 

Fred {indignantly). Steal what? And what does Mrs. 
Hyde say about me? 

Mrs. D. Land ! There goes my tongue again. I ain't 

f got no more sense than a goldfish. But ever since your maw 

an' Mis' Hyde had that fight, the day after you went to New 

York (Fred looks amazed.) Didn't you know your 

maw and Mis' Hyde ain't ben speakin' for nigh onto three 
year? 

Fred. Never heard a whisper of a quarrel. What's the 
matter ? 

Mrs. D. {confused). Why — ah — {speaking very slowly 
and carefully) Mis' Hyde says — leastwise, she alleges — {stop- 
ping to consider the word and repeating it) she alleges that 
you sto — kinda took — a Lady Baltimore cake she baked for 
the new Methodist minister's supper. Three years ago, you 
know. 

Fred. She says I stole her cake ? 

Mrs. D. She alleges that you — ah — kinda took it off'n 
the pantry window-sill. 

Fred. Well, upon my word ! {Begi?is to grin.) And 
— er — how about my mother? Didn't she have anything to 
allege when Mrs. Hyde alleged all this ? 

Mrs. D. {smiling in spite of herself). Well, of course 
you know your maw is a very — ah — high sperrited woman. 
And when Mis' Hyde said what she said, why your maw 
said things, and then Mis' Hyde wouldn't let her husband 
go 'round with your paw 

Fred. Poor dad ! And nobody told me a word about it ! 

Mrs. D. Why, the village is all tore apart over it to this 
day, some on Mis' Hyde's side and some on your maw's. 
{Hastily.) I'm neutral, myself, and alius was. And your 
maw and Mis' Hyde ain't spoke for years. 

Fred {musing). And our families used to be the best 
of friends. The best of friends. 

Mrs. D. {shrewdly). Ain't it funny how folks change? 
Kitty Hyde's engaged to Martin Jennings now. 

Fred. Kitty Hyde ! {Turns away.) How — how nice! 

{Rises and goes l.) 



10 BORROWERS DAY 

Mrs. D. {dryly). Yes. Ain't it, though? {Brief pause.") 
Sometimes I've thought Kitty wa'n't any too pleased at you 
disappearing so sudden like. 

Fred {bitterly). I assure you that Miss Hyde didn't 
mind how suddenly I disappeared. 

Mrs. D. No? Well, now that you've returned 

(Fred crosses r. and sits.) 

Fred {eager to change subject). That reminds me: 
what did you mean, a while ago, by asking if I wanted to 
return anything? 

Mrs. D. Why, it's Borrowers' Day. You know, us 
ladies in the Ladies' Suppression Society 

Fred. The Ladies' what? 

Mrs. D. {importantly). The Ladies' Society for the 
Suppression of Frivolous Literature. Well, we've renamed 
this village " Borrowdale." Honest, Freddie, it's .perfectly 
scandalous the way people have borrowed things from their 
neighbors and never returned 'em. So t'other day when 
your Aunt Sally Grant couldn't find her knittin'-needles that 
the Browns had borrowed to open a bottle of olives with, 
the night of the sewing-bee, and her wantin' 'em special on 
account of knittin' a new scarf for the new minister, his 
throat being so delicate he has to stop right in the middle 
of his sermon sometimes to hem and haw and fuss and 
cough and 

Fred {holding up his hands). Mrs. Dodge ! This is 
too distressing. 

Mrs. D. Well, your aunt said wouldn't it be a good idee 
for every one that had borrowed anything to return it on a 
certain day. So we set to-day for the day. And my house 
is the center for every one in this section to meet and return 
things, and I do hope I'll get back that ice-cream freezer I 
lent the Thompsons two years ago next month, though I 
suppose I won't, and it's a judgment on me for lendin' out- 
side my own neighborhood. {Gasps for breath.) People'll 
be comin' purty soon now, I reckon. You must stay, Fred- 
die, and get acquainted with your neighbors all over again. 
All except the Hydes, of course, for your maw won't let you 
speak to them. 

Fred. No. {Rises.) I must run along home. Haven't 
seen mother yet. Perhaps I'll come back with her. I have 
a little two-day vacation, and want to surprise my folks. 



BORROWERS DAY II 

{Goes up c.) 

Mrs. D. But, Freddie ! I haven't asked you about your 
New York job, nor nothin'. I want to know 

Fred. All right. See you later, Mrs. Dodge. (Picks 
up bag and looks out doorway, c.) What have we here ? 

Mrs. D. (going tip a). Heavenly day ! It's Myrtilla 
Montmorenci ! (Comes down R.) 

Fred. Myrtilla Montmorenci ? Why (Looks ear- 

nestly out door.) Oh, yes; I remember her. She writes 
poetry. (Goes L. c.) 

Mrs. D. (soothingly). Yes, yes. So she does. But we 
hadn't ought to hold it agin her, I say. All of us has our 
leetle peculiarities. 

(Enter Myrtilla Montmorenci, c. ; she has paper and 
pencil in her hands.) 

Myrtilla. Good — (stopping on threshold to write word 
on paper ; advances ; looks up) good-afternoon, Mis' Dodge. 
Can you tell me a word that rhymes with " Niagara " ? I'm 
writing an ode on Niagara Falls, that marvelous expanse of 
water that drops down, down, down, in swift — in turbu- 
lent 

Mrs. D. (matter-of-fact). This is Freddie Burnham, 
Myrtilla. You remember Freddie, of course. 

Myrtilla (absently). Of course. Nicaragua almost 
rhymes. Ticonderoga — not so good. (Reads from paper.) 
" Behold the mighty cataract, the glorious Niagara — greater 
than the greatest stream that vexes Nicaragua " 

Mrs. D. (down r.). I'm sure I don't see why Nicaragua 
should be vexed over it, Myrtilla. It's a real nice water- 
fall, to my way o' thinkin'. Not that I ever seen Niagara 
myself, but my aunt went there on her honeymoon and liked 
it real well, though it was a dreiful expensive trip in them 
days, but I reckon the rates is reduced by now, and anyway 
they run excursions in the autumn. 

Myrtilla (up c, shuddering). Dear, dear Mis' Dodge, 
do not mention vulgar money in the same breath with that 
vast torrent whose unbridled 

Mrs. D. " Unbridled " ? With all them bridal couples 
traipsing there? It's the most bridled waterfall I know 
anything about. Though I never seen why Miller's crick 



12 



BORROWERS DAY 



wa'n't just as good to look at, and cost a lot less — only a 
nickel car fare. 

Myrtilla (dreamily'). Niagara — Pythagoras j Niag- 
ara 

Fked (l.). ''Staggerer"? 

Myrtilla. A thousand thanks ! (Writes; notices him 
for first time.') Why, it's Freddie ! Freddie, ever ready ; 
ever true and steady — ever 

Fred (hastily). I'm no subject for poetry, Mrs. Mont- 
morenci. 

Mrs. D. j (tnvetheA "Mrs " ' 
Myrtilla \ K t0 * einer )' iVirs - ■ 

Fred. Oh, aren't you married ? When I left town three 
years ago your name was Myrtilla Stubbins. 

Myrtilla (hand to heart ). Don't ! Ah, don't ! My 
poetic nature rebelled at the horrid cognomen with which 
fate had shackled me. My Muse refused to soar when 
bound down to that crude and ugly appellation of " Stub— - 
Stub" — 1 cannot, cannot pronounce it. My verses, when- 
e'er I recalled that name, lost their ethereal 

Mrs. D. (practically). Jn short, she swapped names. 

Myrtilla (shuddering). "Swapped"! 

Mrs. D. And hit upon that thar name of " Montmor- 
enci " and took it. 

Myrtilla. " Hit upon " ! Dear, dear Mis' Dodge, the 
choice of that name was made after long and agonizing 
thought. 

Fred. I don't doubt it. (Picks up bag.) But I'll see 
you ladies later. 

(Exit c, hastily.) 

* Myrtilla (pleased). Really? (Simpers and comes 
dotvn c.) Such a nice boy. I'll just write an ode to him — 
it would please him, don't you think ? 

Mrs. D. I dun no. Some people are pleased with 'most 
anything. What've you brought? 

Myrtilla. " Burnham — learn 'em ; Burnham — turn 'em ; 
Burnham " 

Mrs. D. {louder). I say, what've you brought? 

Myrtilla. "Burnham — dern 'em; Burnham — Burn- 
ham — Burnham " 

Mrs. D. I say, what've you brought? 

Myrtilla. Brought ? 



BORROWERS DAY 



x 3 



Mrs. D. Brought. 

Myrtilla. Brought? — Why, that doesn't rhyme with 
Burnham. It rhymes with thought and fought and wrought. 

Mrs. D. Rot ! 

Myrtilla. "Freddie Burnham, from New York " 

What rhymes with New York? 

Mrs. D. Myrtilla Montmorenci, listen here. What've 
you brought back that you borrowed ? 

Myrtilla. New — York. Is there nothing that rhymes 
with New York but stew — pork ? 

{Loud, bang heard L. ; angry voices ; chairs overturned ; 
door slammed. Mrs. D. jumps. Myrtilla, unheeding, 
wanders to table up R. ; sits down, scribbles, pausing 
now and then as if for inspiration.') 

{Enter Deacon Dodge in rage, l. ; slams door ; stamps 
across roo?n, then comes down l.) 

Mrs. D. {going to him, timidly'). What ails ye, Ezra? 

Deacon. What ails me? What ails me? {Shouts.') 
Liniment ails me. Wife, I've fired the hired man. ( Goes c.) 

Mrs. D. Fired him ? 

Deacon (a). Fired him clean through the kitchen 
window. 

Mrs. D. {down l., in distress). Oh, Ezra! Oh, how 
terrible ! Did it break ? 

Deacon. I opened it first. Out he went — {kicking furi- 
ously and almost falling backward) and his vile deceptions 
with him. 

Mrs. D. Deceptions ? Oh, Ezra ! 

Deacon. Deceptions and contraptions. Him and his 
bicycle! Ye know what thet thar rascal done? Used my 
rheumatism liniment to ile the joints in his bicycle. " Young 
man," I says, "don't you know it's wicked to waste first- 
class liniment on a second-hand wheel ? Don't you know," 
I says, "that waste leads to want and want leads to tempta- 
tion and temptation leads to sin and sin leads to — — " 

Mrs. D. Sh ! Ezra ! 

Deacon. So I opened the kitchen window, and then 

{Illustrates and again nearly falls backward.) 

Mrs. D. {anxiously). Had he used much of it ? 
Deacon {going up r.). Sp'iled the best part o' a pint. 



14 BORROWERS DAY 

{Pounds under Myrtilla's nose and o?i her paper.} The 
best part o' a pint ! Drew the cork 

Myrtilla {rising with a little shriek, clutches his hand}. 
"Drew cork"! "New York"! Oh, Deacon, I thank 
you ! {Still clutches him with one hand as she writes o?i 
paper with other.') Listen ! " The sunset lay all over 
New York — red as wine when you've drew the cork " 

Deacon (up a). What ! Woman ! 

Mrs. D. Really, Myrtilla ! And you a member of the 
temperance union ! 

Myrtilla (up r.). But it's only poetic license. 

Deacon. License? License? Hain't this a no-license 
village ? 

Myrtilla (timidly). But — but — what can I say, then ? 

Mrs. D. I'm sure the sunset never looked like any kind 
of liquor to me. 

Myrtilla. Ah, but you are not filled with the great 
poetic thirst 

Deacon. Thirst? Thirst? No decent man or woman 
ever felt a thirst. (Myrtilla is again oblivious.) Woman, 
do you hear what I say ? 

Myrtilla. What rhymes with " sky-scraper " ? 

Mrs. D. Fly paper ? 

(Deacon glares at them both and exit, l., speechless with 
rage.) 

Myrtilla (gratefully). Dear, dear Mis' Dodge! 

(Writes.) 

Mrs. D. But, really, Myrtilla, you must change that line 
about the sperrits in the sunset. Deacon doesn't like it at 
all — I could see it annoyed him. Now, why not " red as 
ink when you've drew the cork " ? I'm sure there's nothing 
objectionable about ink. Or red as tonic? Raspberry tonic 
is a real pretty shade of red. 

Myrtilla (doubtfully). Tonic — of course that rhymes 

with "chronic " (Becomes dreamy again.) I'll just 

go into the next room, where I can woo the Muse in silence. 

(Exit, l. ) 

Mrs. D. Yes, do. (Goes up l.) You go right .into the 



borrowers' day 15 

dining-room and you can moo the Wooze — I mean, sue the 
Shoos — I mean, shoo the Moose ( Gives it up in despair.} 

{A firm rap at door. Enter Mrs. Hyde, book in hand.) 

Mrs. H. Well, of all the impudence ! Humph ! 

Mrs. D. What's the matter, Mis' Hyde? Who you 
humphin' at? 

Mrs. H. (glaring at her f and coming down R.) Who 
do you think I seen? 

Mrs. D. {coming down l.). Freddie Burnham? 

Mrs. H. {surprised). Yes. {Gulps with anger.) 
Some folks has nerve. 1 met him on the street, and he had 
the impudence to take off his hat to me ! After stealing my 
Lady Baltimore cake like he done ! i declare, I was so mad 
the air seemed full of cake crumbs. 

{Bounces onto sofa down r.) 

Mrs. D. {down l.). Well, now, Mis' Hyde, I wouldn't 
say he stole it — not when he's right here in town. He just 
sorta maybe took it. 

Mrs. H. Took it ! If grabbing a cake right off the pan- 
try window-sill when I had the minister to supper and the 
stove not baking well at all — if that ain't stealing then I 
dunno what is. Nobuddy else was round my pantry win- 
dow that afternoon except Freddie — hangin' after Kitty, I 
suppose, but thank goodness, it came to nothing whatever ! 
" Took " it ! Steal is what I said, and steal is what I meant. 
Where's he ben all this time, I'd like to know ? 

(Mrs. Grant appears at door c.) 

Mrs. G. {beaming). I just know you're talking about 
Freddie Burnham. Ain't it wonderful, him coming back 
afier all these years? I seen him leavin' here, Mis' Dodge, 
from my west window, through my spy-glass that was my 
poor dear husband's. {Comes down c.) 

Mrs. D. Your spy-glass ! I've often wondered how you 
happened to know who called here. 

Mrs. G. I'm sure I don't know what you mean, Mis' 
Dodge. If you're tryin' to hint I'm curious, you're mis- 
taken. I use them glasses to look at the weather with, to 
tell if it's a good day to hang out clothes. 

Mrs. D. {coldly). This ain't wash day. 



16 borrowers' day 

Mrs. G. (unruffled}. Wa'al, yestiddy was, wan't it? 
{Sits on chair down R.) Now, what I want to know is, did 
Freddie say anything about Mis' Hyde's cake? It don't do 
me no good to have him for a nephew — his maw don't treat 
me no more confidential than if 1 wasn't her sister-in-law at 
all. I hope I ain't nosey, but if I could only find out 

Mrs. H. What's he ben a-doin' of all these years ? His 
maw says he's ben in New York. In jail, likely. 

Mrs. G. I heard he's some kind of a speculator. 

{Shocked silence.) 

M H l if (, S einer * i * n l° u d whisper). Speculator ! 

Mrs. H. I wouldn't put it beyond him. 

Mrs. G. Wa'al, I hope to holler ! If that ain't just like 
the novel I was readin' about — "Lord Hunter's Fatal 
Fling." 

Mrs. D. A novel ! 

Mrs. G. {hurriedly). Before I j'ined the Ladies' Society 
for the Suppression of Frivolous Literature, of course. I 
took it away from my hired girl. Ain't it terrible how them 
girls will stuff their minds with such low books? I tell you, 
ladies, the Suppression Society is doin' a great work in this 
town. We can't never be too grateful to Mis' Dodge for 
startin' it. 

Mrs. H. Novels was ruinin' the village. I believe Fred- 
die Burnham's downfall is due to reading paper-backed 
novels. I wonder his maw can hold up her head, and her 
settin' in the front row at church every Sunday. 

Mrs. D. Sh ! Here comes his maw now. 

(Goes up c. and greets Mrs. Burnham, who enters c.) 

Mrs. B. {affably). Good -afternoon, ladies. (Sees Mrs. 
H. and stiffens. Pause. Both glare ; then Mrs. B. sweeps 
to chair down extreme L. of stage, going so close to Mrs. H. 
that the latter has to draw her feet in quickly.) I'm a 
leetle mite late, but I've had such a grand surprise ! My 
poor boy is home on a visit. 

Mrs. H. (to Mrs. D.). "Poor" is ker-rect ! 

Mrs. B. (venomously). My poor, persecuted boy 

Mrs. H. (to Mrs. D). If he'd ben a prosecuted boy, 
there'd 'a' ben less trouble in this town. 



borrowers' day 17 

Mrs. B. My poor, persecuted boy that certain parties 
has tried to slander with false, malicious stories. But he 
has rose fur, fur above such mean doin's. He's a success- 
ful business man now — he ain't stuck in the mud in a leetle 
one-hoss town like the husband of a certain party I know. 

Mrs. H. (bouncing with rage, but ahvays speaking to 
Mrs. D.). Better stuck in the mud of a little town than lost 
in the mire of the stock market. 

Mrs. B. (unheeding atid always addressing Mrs. G. ). 
Ain't it wonderful how quick a bright young man can rise 
in the world nowadays? When poor Fred went away he 
had scurcely forty dollars in his pockets 

Mrs. H. If I was to tell all 1 know, I could show you a 
young feller that never knew the difference between a silver 
dollar and an honest day's work, because he never saw 
neither. But I hold no malice, and I won't say nothin'. 

Mrs. B. (oblivious}. Ain't it queer, Mis' Dodge, how 
some people ain't never learned to be a lady no matter how 
long they associate with refined people like the Ladies' 
Society for the Suppression of Frivolous Literature? Ain't 
it wonderful how they keep their same old manners — if you 
could call 'em manners — and interrupt people so rude? 

Mrs. D. (mildly). Well, well, Mis' Burn ham, it takes 
all kinds of people to make a world. (Mrs. B. is pleased ; 
Mrs. H. angry.) Don't it, Mis' Hyde? 

(Mrs. H. is pleased; Mrs. B. angry.) 

Mrs. B. As I was tryin' to tell you, Mis' Dodge, my son 
Freddie has a grand job now. He gets fifty dollars a week. 
(Mrs. H. laughs derisively; Mrs. B. stops to glare.) It 
just shows that you can't keep an honest man down. 

Mrs. H. Did I hear the word "honest," Mis' Dodge? 
It's too bad certain parties won't never study a dictionary. 
Some people would even have the courage to mention pan- 
try in the same breath with honesty ; or Christian in the 
same sentence with cake. 

Mrs. B. (rising and angrily shaking finger at Mrs. D.). 
And I tell you, Mis' Dodge, they's a certain class of people 
that if you'd open a can of insect powder under their nose 
it'd kill 'em. {Goes l. C.) 

Mrs. H. (leaping up and shaking finger at Mrs. G., 
who is alarmed). Mis' Grant, if I wasn't a lady I could 
tell you exactly what I think about some people. 



18 borrowers' day 

Mrs. B. {in a fury as Mrs. D. backs away \* mi fright- 
ened). I wouldn't be bothered losing my temper over some 
folks. 

Mrs. H. {shrieking'). Some people just can't get me 
mad, Mis' Grant. I just won't get mad for 'em. 

Myrtilla {bursting from dining-room with a shriek). 
"Harmonic!" Oh, oh ! "Harmonic." {She comes down 
C. ; the others look at her in amazement.') Listen ! {De- 
claims with sweeping gestures.) "The sunset lay all over 
New York, red as ink when you've drew the cork ; the 
heavens, huge, high, and harmonic, stained the shade of 
raspberry tonic ; — when into town came Fred L. Burnham, 
to meet those smart folks and to learn 'em." 

Mrs. B. Delicious ! 

Mrs. H. Delirious ! 

Myrtilla. It's an ode to Freddie. 

Mrs. H. Why don't you write a long poem on what 
Freddie owed to other people? There's lots of rhymes for 
" cake." For instance — " Take." 

Mrs. B. {viciously). Or "Fake.' 

Mrs. D. There, there, ladies. {Goes r. and stands 
between them. Myrtilla goes l.) Let's not have any 
quarrels. Remember you're out in company now and 
mustn't act as though you was at home. 

Myrtilla. Home, home ! There was something I bor- 
rowed that I meant to return, but I left it at home. I'll hie 
me hence and fetch it. 

{Exit, c. ; runs into Martin Jennings on way out, but 
fails to notice him. As she disappears, Martin and 
Kitty Hyde enter. Martin has an utnbrella that he 
stands against the wall, l.) 

Kitty. Well, have the borrowers returned anything 
valuable ? What's the matter with every one ? {She comes 
down l. and takes chair at front of stage. Martin fol- 
lows her.) You look pessimistic. 

Mrs. H. The village has just had some very bad news, 
daughter. 

Kitty. Oh, mother — what is it? 

Martin. What is it, Aunt Sally? 

Mrs. G. {officiously and watching Kitty keenly). Fred- 
die Burnham's come back. 



BORROWERS* DAY 10, 

Kitty {half-rising, sinks back again, and regains com- 
posure). Oh, is that so ? 

(Every one looks at her, and after a moment she yawns de- 
liberately and elaborately.) 

Martin (a bit disturbed). Freddie Burnham, hey? 
Well, I should unnecessarily agitate myself. 

Kitty {impatiently). Oh, keep still, Martin. That isn't 
funny. 

Martin. Well, just because Freddie's been to N' Yawk, 
he ain't the whole village. Lots of fellers are just as good 
as him that never went very far from this town. A rolling 
stone butters no parsnips. 

Mrs. B. Well, since Freddie gets fifty dollars a week 
now, I reckon he can afford to have a little butter on his 
parsnips if he likes. 

Martin. Fifty — dollars ! 

{Jingles money in pocket and lapses into sorrowful thought.) 

Mrs. H. Ten dollars in the hand is worth fifty in the — 
er — air, Martin. 

Mrs. G. Congratulations on your engagement to my 
nephew, Kitty. 1 hope you'll be happy. 

Kitty. 1 hope so. 

Martin {confidently). Oh, she will, all right. 

Mrs. H. I'm thankful, Martin, that you never sneaked 
round people's pantry windows to steal cake. 

Kitty {laughing). Oh, mother ! you are funny ! What's 
a cake between friends ? 

Mrs. H. Funny ! 

Mrs. B. Friends 1 

Kitty. That cake has been roasted to a crisp. Roasted, 
and frosted, and digested. And I think it's a stale topic 
after three years as a steady diet. It's given the whole vil- 
lage a bad case of social dyspepsia. Can't we get some 
other kind of mental food ? How's the Lady Suppressors ? 
Or — this is Borrowers' Day. Has anybody returned any- 
thing? 

Mrs. H. To be sure. And I've brought back your 
book, Mis' Dodge. I'm real ashamed of myself for keepin' 
it so long, but 'twas real interestin'. {Holds it out.) 

Mrs. D. What book? 



20 borrowers' day 

Mrs. H. "Lady Geraldine's Past: Or the Blasted 
Career." 

(Dead silence. Then Kitty giggles.) 

Martin (round-eyed'). But Mis' Dodge ! I thought 
you was president of the Ladies' Society for the Supres- 
sion 

Mrs. D. (down r. c, taking book). This ain't mine. 

Mrs. H. (down r.). I borrowed it off you. 

Mrs. D. (firmly, though flustered). 'Tain't mine. Mis' 
Grant left it here. (Hands book to Mrs. G.) 

Mrs. G. (placidly). Of course I did, Mis' Dodge. You 
wanted I should leave it here. Don't you remember, I told 
you how I'd read all about Geraldine and her dread-ful past 
and you said how interestin' it must be, and would I let you 
take the book. 

Mrs. D. You're mistaken, Mis' Grant. I never 

Mrs. G. Yes, you did, too. Yes, you did, too. 1 told 
you how per-fect-ly awful that part was in the ballroom at 
the castle where Lord Mountjoy grabs a dagger 

Mrs. H. And stabs Geraldine in the shoulder. 

Mrs. D. In the neck. (Catches herself in confusion.) 

Mrs. G. (triumphantly). Thar now ! You do remem- 
ber ! 

Mrs. D. Well, anyways, I — I — I had to read it in be- 
half of the Suppression Society, to see if 'twas really as bad 
as folks said. 

Mrs. G. (with immense satisfaction). It was ! 

Mrs. H. (with even more unction). Worse ! 

Mrs. D. I borrowed it off Myrtilla in the first place. 
(Puts book on table down L. ; still angry with Mrs. H.) 
You wait a minute, Mis' Hyde — I got something I bor- 
rowed of you. (To Kitty and Martin.) Come help me 
set the table for the tea and sandwiches. You don't want 
to stay out here with other folks, and you just engaged. 
Come — I want you to open a box of kisses. 

(She giggles. Kitty and Martin go out with her, l. 
Mrs. H. and Mrs. G. talk down r. Mrs. B. looks at 
book, down l.) 

(Enter Samuel Hyde and Nathan Burnham, arm in arm, 
up c.) 



borrowers' DAY 21 

Burnham {amiably'). Well, then, Hyde, if we can sneak 
off, what do you say to a couple hours' fishing, old man ? 

(Mrs. B. and Mrs. H. rise majestically, outraged at this 
friendliness. Hyde sees his wife and changes tactics. 
Burnham's back is to l., and he does not see Mrs. B.) 

Hyde {clutching Burnham by arms and shaking him). 
Don't you say that again, Nathan Burnham, you hear? 
Don't you say that again, even if you are an old man ! 

Burnham {not seeing wife). Say what ? 

Hyde {luinking carefully a?id shaking him). Don't you 
say fishing to me. Don't you dast to say it ! 

Burnham. Leggo my arm. What's the matter with 
you ? 

Hyde {winking). If they wasn't ladies present, I dunno 
what I'd do to you, you old — old — old 

Burnham. Ladies present? {Turns alertly, sees wife, 
and iminediately falls upon Hyde and catches him by throat.) 
Threaten me, would you ? Use language to me, would you ? 
I'll show you But no. Not in the presence of women- 
folk. {Turns away ; then swings back.) Toad! 

{Comes down c.) 

Hyde {following down a). Y' old he- tomcat ! 
Burnham. Ah-hh ! 
Hyde. Bah-hh ! 

{As attention is turned elsewhere, they begin to whisper 
and edge to door.) 

{Enter Mrs. D., l., still resentful toward Mrs. H. She 
comes down c. and holds out rouge box.) 

Mrs. D. Here, Mis' Hyde, I found this in your sewing 
bag the time you left it in my dining-room. {Takes out 
rouge cake and powder puff.) I'm sure I dunno what it's 
for. 

Mrs. B. (l.). Paint ! 

Mrs. H. (r., embarrassed). It — it — it's just powder to 
preserve the complexion. 

Mrs. B. Well, really, Mis' Dodge ! For a church- 
member and secretary of the Ladies' Suppression, some 
people is going pretty fur. 



22 BORROWERS DAY 

Mrs. H. {almost inarticulate with fury .) Kitty! Kitty! 
(Kitty comes to dini?ig-room door, l.) I can't be too 
thankful, Kitty, that you don't work in a stock market at 
fifty dollars a week. 

(Kitty laughs and stands in doorway, l.) 

Mrs. B. Stock market ! 

(Burnham and Hyde slip out c.) 

Mrs. D. Come into the dining-room, ladies, and have 
some tea. This is exhausting work. 

{All leave except Kitty. She stands aside to let them 
through doorway, then cautiously approaches table down 
L., opens book, and begins to read " Lady Geraldine.") 

(Enter Fred, c.) 

Kitty (hearing his step and closing book with a bang). 
Why — you ! 

Fred. Why — not? 

Kitty. It's you ! (Goes behind table l.). 

Fred. So it is. And unless I'm mistaken (his tone has 
a thrill of feeling in spite of the lightness of his marine/) it's 
— you. 

(They lean across table, looking at each other.) 

Kitty (after a long moment and a long sigh, regaining 
her airy manner). You don't look so awfully desperate. 

Fred. Certainly not. Why should I ? 

Kitty (lightly). Isn't it the badge of your trade? 

Fred. Of my trade ? 

Kitty. The stock market — robbing the widow and 
orphan, and all that. 

Fred. But I'm not connected with the stock market. 

Kitty. You make fifty dollars a week in it. 

Fred. In stocks ? 

Kitty. Somebody told mother that you were interested 
in stocks. Aren't you? (Goes c.) 

Fred (still by the table l.). Why, yes. But there are 
stocks — and stocks. The kind I'm interested in grow on 
farms. They're chiefly pigs, and they eat our Pabulum. 

Kitty. Pab — what? 



BORROWERS DAY 23 

Fred. Our patent food for pigs. Patterson's Pig Pab- 
ulum — Pigs Thrive On It. 
Kitty (cruelly). So I see. 
Fred. Don't treat me as if I were a ham, Kitty. 

(Goes to her, c. She goes r. and sits oti sofa.} 

Kitty. New York has made you sparkle, hasn't it ? 
You are fond of New York, Mr. Burnham ? 

Fred. Yes, indeed — Miss Hyde. The people are de- 
lightful, business is splendid — but I miss the home cooking. 

(Goes R. and sits in chair. .) 

Kitty. Home cooking ? H'm ! 

Fred. 1 don't get you, Kit. 

Kitty. What's that on your chin, Mr. Burnham? (He 
brushes his chin.) I thought it was a cake crumb. 

Fred (laughing). Honestly, Kit, you don't believe that 
yarn, do you? 1 didn't steal your mother's cake. Don't 
you believe me ? 

Kitty (laughing). What if you did ? You were just a 
little boy three years ago. 

Fred. But I didn't. And I wasn't such a little boy that 
— (he looks into her eyes a moment; she drops her glance 
slowly) that I couldn't feel things pretty deeply, Kit. You 
believe me when I say that I don't know anything about 
that miserable cake — don't you? There was a time when 
you believed what 1 said, Kitty. 

Kitty. I was only a little girl myself, then. I~didn't 
know my own mind. 

Fred (bitterly). You know your own mind now, it 
seems. Let me wish you joy. 

Kitty. Oh, thank you, Mr. Burnham ! Martin is such 
a dear boy ! 

Fred. He is a very fortunate boy. 

Kitty. Yes — isn't he? Not at all fond of cake. 

Fred. It's useless to rake up the past — but I must say 
you've treated me rather shabbily. 

Kitty. I treated you shaboily? 

Fred. On the very evening before I went away, though 
you knew I was going, you went out to walk with this — Mar- 
tin, instead of saying good-bye to me. 



24 BORROWERS DAY 

Kitty. Well, this Martin had been somewhat more 
agreeable than it had suited Mr. Burnham to be. 

Fred. I was no more disagreeable than you. I wanted 
to see whose picture you had in your locket, and you wouldn't 
show it to me. 

Kitty. Of course not. It was your picture. 

Fred. Then why — why were you so nasty about it? 

Kitty {heatedly). You were nasty first. 

Fred. I wasn't. 

Kitty. You were. 

Fred. I wasn't. 

Kitty. You were. 



Both J (together-). { ^ 



( Wasn't — wasn't — wasn't — 
were — were — were - 



{Both laugh.) 

Kitty. This is quite like old times, isn't it? If we keep 
on fighting, we shall soon be as friendly as ever. Anyway, 
you were. And I refused to show you the picture because I 
wanted to make you angry. 

Fred. Well, you did. 

Kitty {sighing). Yes, I'm glad. 

Fred. Well, 1 can't understand why, when a girl has a 
fellow's picture, she should fly into a rage and refuse to let 
him see it. 

Kitty. Good gracious, what else should she do ? 

Fred. Have you the locket now ? 

Kitty. Certainly. {Holds it out.) 

Fred. Let me see the inside. (Kitty pretends to strug- 
gle / he opens the locket and exclaims in chagrin.) Martin's 
picture ! (Kitty laughs provokingly.) What have you 
done with mine? 

Kitty. Lost it, long ago. 

Fred. I don't believe it. Kitty, I believe, away down 
in your heart, you still — still 

Kitty. You flatter yourself, Mr. Burnham. 

Fred. You'll never marry Martin. 

Kitty. Why not? Will he run away from me, without 
a word, like 

Fred. Without a word ! Like — what? 

Kitty. Like a New Yorker. — Oh, well, our little flirta- 
tion was amusing while it lasted. More amusing than this 
conversation. {Rises and starts for dining-room door L. ) 



BORROWERS DAY 25 

Fred (rising). There's some misunderstanding. I 
didn't go " without a word." {Points to her hand.) You're 
still wearing my ring ! 

Kitty ( guiltily covering ring, then looking at it in pre- 
teiided surprise). Did you give me this ? 

Fred. The day of the high school picnic. You remem- 
ber. {She shakes her head vigorously.) Down by the 
lake 

Kitty. Well, this is Borrowers' Day in the village. 
We're supposed to return things we'd borrowed and forgot- 
ten about — and have no further use for. (Kitty removes 
ring and lays it on table down L.) Here's what you 
loaned me. Let me return it — with thanks. 

(Stands down L. c.) 

Fred. Then let me return something you loaned me at 
the same time — with thanks. 

(He fumbles in his pockets and crosses to her.) 

Kitty. What is it ? 
Fred. Two of these. 

(Catches her in his arms and tries to kiss her. Kitty 
wrenches herself free and gives him a smart box on the 
ear. Then she runs up to door L.) 

Kitty. Take that as part payment, Mr. Burnham. 

(Exit.) 

Fred (rubbing his ear). Wow ! Little d — darling ! 

(Enter Deacon, l.) 

Deacon. Go on in, Freddie, and get a cup o' tea. The 
cup that cheers but not inebriates. Mis' Dodge is pouring 
it out by the bucketful, and Kitty's handing round the 
cream and lemon. 

Fred (going l.). Yes, she handed me some just now. 
But I'm game for more. I think I'll take it, this time, with 
a little sugar. 

(Exit, l.) 



26 borrowers' day 

(Deacon looks furtively about room, goes to table down l., 
opens book and begins to read" Lady Geralditie. ' ' Enter 
Martin, l. Deacon closes book hastily and crosses r.) 

Martin. Been huntin' all over for you, Deacon. (Gets 
umbrella from against wall up l.) I wanted to return this 
umberella you let me take t'other night. (Comes down c.) 
I b'leeve you said at the time that you wouldn't want to lose 
it, bein' the best you had. 

Deacon (taking umbrella). Ah, thank you. No, I ' 
shouldn't care to part with it. In a way, 'twas a gift. I 
prize it highly. 

Maktin (skeptically). Yep. So did Parson Smith. I 
see he's got his name engraved on the handle. 

Deacon (examining the handle in pretended surprise). 
Well, well ! Funny I never noticed that before. Must've 
got it mixed with mine some time. You see, I had one al- 
most exactly like this, only 

Martin. Only the name on the other one was mine. 
Oh, well, when a man once gits the collectin' fever he ain't 
really responsible. Keep 'em both, deacon — keep 'em both. 

Deacon (forcing a laugh). Haw, haw ! You will have 
your joke, Martin. But I must go feed the horses. — Very 
sorry. — Important. Got to hurry. 

(He rushes out l. Martin picks up "Lady Geralditie" 
and furtively starts to read. Enter Mrs. G., l. Martin 
hastily slams book on table l. Behind Mrs. G. comes 
Mrs. B. They come down c.) 

Mrs. B. Oh, Mis' Grant. Here's something I 'most 
forgot to return to you. (Takes false hair from pocket 
and holds it out.) You left this in my house on sewin' 
circle day, five months ago. (Spitefully.') Mebbe this'll 
help to remind you that my son ain't no speculator in 
stocks ! ( Comes doivn r. ) 

(Hyde and Burnham, arm in arm, enter c. They come 
down c. Enter Mrs. D., l., and comes down l.) 

Mrs. G. (down u., taking hair). Thank you, dear Mis' 
Burnham. I didn't really expect to get it back — you bor- 
rowed it so long ago. Nice of you to return it, but I never 
wear a switch after some one else has used it for any length 
o' time. (To Burnham.) Here, Mr. Burnham, I noticed 



BORROWERS DAY 27 

you a-droppin' this into the contribution box at the Ladies' 
Aid Bazaar last week. {Hands him half dollar.) It must 
be worth quite a leetle. They tell me it's pure lead. 

(Mrs. H. enters from dining-room.') 

Burnham {sheepishly). Oh, I didn't notice. That is, I 

thought {Turns to Hyde.) Here y' are, Hyde — I 

knew this would git me into trouble. That's the plugged 
half dollar you palmed off on me in exchange for that there 
fishing tackle the other day. 

{Awful silence.) 

Hvde. Sir-rr ! I don't understand these here jests ! 

Burnham (suddenly remembering they are e?iemies). It 
ain't a jest, sir — it's a insult. I'm insultin' you, sir — that's 
what I'm a-doin'. You come on out — they's a lot more 
insults I want you should hear. 

(Starts for door, c, followed belligerently by Hyde.) 

Mrs. H % (icily). Good-bye, Mis' Dodge. Borrowers' 
Day don't seem to be no very grand success. 

Mrs. B. It's ben a occasion when them that has spite- 
fulness in 'em has got it out, and when them that has deceit 
in 'em has ben showed up as they deserve. 

(All glare at one a?wther. Hyde and Burnham, stepping 
with elaborate caution, make their escape. The women 
all begin to talk at once — angrily and loudly, " Well, I 
must say " — " Well, of all things " — " Td like to know 
what right any one has " — etc. At the same time they 
flounce out c. Mrs. D., trying to speak, follows them 
toivard door ; then turns and starts angrily toward din- 
ing-room, l., as Kitty and Fred enter l. Mrs. D. stalks 
past them and slams the door, l. Kitty and Fred are 
alone. Kitty starts to go toward door, c, but Fred 
blocks the way.) 

Fred. You must give me a chance, Kitty. 

Kitty. You're taking quite a chance now, Mr. Burn- 
ham. If Martin should catch you annoying me 

Fked. Don't you want to talk to me? 

Kitty. Certainly not. And if you don't go away, I 
shall call Martin. (Fred folds his arms. She calls in ab- 



28 borrowers' day 

surdly weak tones!) Martin! {Silence; the?i she calls in 
very slightly louder tone.) Mart-in ! 

Fred (mock'mgly). Be careful. He might hear you. 
(Kitty flomices down l. to chair and sits. Fred comes 
down to her.) What did you mean by saying I ran away ? 
It's an ugly reproach. (Kitty fidgets but remains silent.) 
You didn't mean what you said — I'm sure of that. You're 
engaged to another man, but I can't stand by, silent 

Kitty. You've managed to keep silent for three years. 

Fred. But why? That was your wish, not mine. 

Kitty. My wish ? That's right ; blame me for every- 
thing. It was my fault that you left town without a word, I 
suppose ? 

Fred. As a matter of fact, it was. 

Kitty (noticing ring o?i table, l.). Here's your ring. 

(Holds it out.) 

Fred {trying to put it on her finger ; she resists). You 
wouldn't have worn this for three years if you hadn't 
cared 

Kitty. Let go my hand or I'll scream. (Screams, not 
too loudly.) Martin ! 

Martin (at door, l.). What is it? 

(Fred drops her hand in surprise and goes hastily R.) 

Kitty (beneath breath). Oh, botheration ! 
Martin (entering l.). What is it ? 
Kitty (in a rage). What do you mean by leaving me 
like this ! 

(Martin comes down l.) 

Martin. But, Kitty 

Kitty. You know I wanted to go home hours ago, and 
here I've been waiting and waiting 

Martin. But, Kitty 

Kitty. You have no more consideration for me than — 
than (Begifis to sniff.) 

Martin. But, Kitty 

Kitty. You're always doing something to annoy me, 
you — you big — big 

Fred. Prune? 



BORROWERS DAY 20, 

Kitty. Prune. 

(Martin glares at Fred.) 

Martin {angrily). You nag at me the whole time. I 
won't stand it. If it's like this before we're married, what'll 
it be afterward ? 

Kitty. And you're abusing me already as if we'd been 
married for years. 

Martin {loftily). You've got to behave a lot different, 
Kitty Hyde, if you're going to marry me. 

Kitty. I'm not going to. 

Martin {astounded) Wha-at? 

Kitty. I'm not going to marry you. I won't, I just 
won't. 

Martin. You just needn't. I'm sick of being hauled 
over the coals 

Fred. If you weren't so raw, you wouldn't require so 
much roasting. 

Martin. What's that? What's that? (Fred advances 
toward him. Martin retreats to door up c.) I won't 
stay here to be insulted. ( With fresh courage, rushes dowti 
to Kitty.) Gimme my ring ! 

{Grabs it from her finger and rushes out.) 

Fred. So it seems you aren't engaged, after all? 

Kitty. Don't taunt me with it. 

Fred. I'm not taunting — I'm congratulating. Martin 
and you would never have made each other happy. You 
need a strong hand. {Crosses l. to her.) 

Kitty. Well, of all things ! 

Fred. You'll love New York. 

Kitty. I'm not going to New York. 

Fred. But we can't travel back and forth from here 
every day. We'll have to live there. (Kitty gasps.) 
You're engaged to me now, you know. 

Kitty. Engaged ? To you ? After the way you treated 
me three years ago? {She rises indigfiantly.) 

{Enter Myrtilla, c, out of breath, a big cake in her hand. 
Conies down R.) 

Mrytilla. I had the worst time trying to get a baker's 
cake that looked like a Lady Baltimore. 



30 borrowers' day 

Kitty. What on earth 

Myrtilla. I suddenly remembered, right in the middle 
of my ode to Freddie, that I borrowed Kitty's mother's cake 
off the pantry window-sill. Three years ago it was — you 
know how absent-minded I am — poets are frequently that 
way. Well, I had company to supper and ran over to bor- 
row some things from Mis' Hyde. She wasn't round the 
kitchen, and I hadn't much time, so 1 just borrowed the 
cake and intended to bake her another next day. 

Kitty (indignant). And you allowed every one to sus- 
pect Freddie — Mr. Burn ham — of stealing it ! 

Myrtilla (dazed). Did some one think he took it? 
Why, I never heard a word about that. My head is so 
busy with rhymes that half the time I don't know what's 
going on around me. (She hands cake to Fred, who hands 
it to Kitty, who puts it on table doivn l.) Oh, Freddie 
Burn ham, is it true that you work in a place where they put 
up food for dear little pigs ? 

Fred. We put up a little dear food for pigs. 

Myrtilla. Oh, I'm so thankful ! So thankful ! 

Fred. Why? Are you interested in pigs? 

Myrtilla. Yes, indeed. I'm writin' an ode on your 
return. You get a salary from your connection with pork, 
and I've tried so hard to find a rhyme for New York — 
"Freddie Burnham, from New Y'ork, who made a fortune 
vast through pork" — oh, I'll have the ode done in a jiffy 
now ! (Starts toward door, c.) 

Fred (suddenly). Myrtilla ! Did you ever deliver that 
note to Kitty? 

Myrtilla. What note ? 

Fred. Oh, Myrtilla ! Oh, woman ! Go finish your 
ode before I finish you ! 

Myrtilla (dazed and unheeding, goes out sloivly, saying 
to herself ). "Salary — gallery; Burnham — spurn 'em " 

Fred (rushing to table, snatches book Mrs. B. left there> 
seizes note from beneath cover, and holds the note in 
front of Kitty). This is what wrecked two human lives ! 
Though I didn't have money enough to marry you then, 
anyway, Kitty. I sent this note to you by Myrtilla. Read 
it. (Goes c.) 

Kitty (rising, takes the note and reads aloud). "If 
you care for me at all and want to hear from me again, meet 
me at the end of the lane. I want to make up." 



BORROWERS DAY o i 

Fred. I sent it to you the night before I left for New 
York, so as to patch up our quarrel. And that addle-headed, 
poetry-scribbling creature — she slipped the note into the 
book cover and I said: "Don't forget it, on your life." 
She replied: "What rhymes with life ? — rife, fife" — and 
never thought of the note again. "Ran away!" No 
wonder you thought so. 

Kitty {indignantly). I never thought so ! What an 
idea ! You do get the strangest notions, Freddie. 

Fked (r. a). This is Borrowers' Day. You might 
return something you borrowed from me a long while ago, 
Kitty.. 

Kitty (l. a). I never borrowed anything from you but 
trouble. 

Fked. Something else. 

Kitty. What? I don't remember. 

Fred (thumping his left side). Something that ought to 
beat about here. 

Kitty (her hands over her heart). Oh, no, Freddie — I 
couldn't return that, really. But — I'll give you one almost 
as good. 

(She dodges round table, l., as Fred starts toward her.) 



QUICK CURTAIN 



Successful Plays for All Girls 

In Selecting Your Next Play Do Not Overlook This List 

YOUNG DOCTOR DEVINE. A Farce in Two Acts, 
by Mrs. E. J. H. Goodfellow. One of the most popular 
plays for girls. For nine female characters. Time in 
playing, thirty minutes. Scenery, ordinary interior. Mod- 
ern costumes. Girls in a boarding-school, learning that a 
young doctor is coming to vaccinate all the pupils, eagerly con- 
sult each other as to the manner of fascinating the physician. 
When the doctor appears upon the scene the pupils discover that 
the physician is a female practitioner. Price, 15 cents. 

SISTER MASONS. A Burlesque in One Act, by Frank 
Dumont. For eleven females. Time, thirty minutes. Costumes, 
fantastic gowns, or dominoes. Scene, interior. A grand expose 
of Masonry. Some women profess to learn the secrets of a 
Masonic lodge by hearing their husbands talk in their sleep, 
and they institute a similar organization. Price, 15 cents. 

A COMMANDING POSITION. A Farcical Enter- 
tainment, by Amelia Sanford. For seven female char- 
acters and ten or more other ladies and children. Time, one 
hour. Costumes, modern. Scenes, easy interiors and one street 
scene. Marian Young gets tired living with her aunt, Miss 
Skinflint. She decides to "attain a commanding position." 
Marian tries hospital nursing, college settlement work and 
school teaching, but decides to go back to housework. Price, 15 
cents. 

HOW A WOMAN KEEPS A SECRET. A Comedy 
in One Act, by Frank Dumont. For ten female characters. 
Time, half an hour. Scene, an easy interior. Costumes, modern. 
Mabel Sweetly has just become engaged to Harold, but it's "the 
deepest kind of a secret." Before announcing it they must win 
the approval of Harold's uncle, now in Europe, or lose a possible 
ten thousand a year. At a tea Mabel meets her dearest friend. 
Maude sees Mabel has a secret, she coaxes and Mabel tells her. 
Btit Maude lets out the secret in a few minutes to another 
friend and so the secret travels. Price, 15 cents. 

THE OXFORD AFFAIR. A Comedy in Three Acts, 
by Josephine H. Cobb and Jennie E. Paine. For eight female 
characters. Plays one hour and three-quarters. Scenes, inter- 
iors at a seaside hotel. Costumes, modern. The action of the 
play is located at a summer resort. Alice Graham, in order to 
chaperon herself, poses as a widow, and Miss Oxford first claims 
her as a sister-in-law, then denounces her. The onerous duties 
of Miss Oxford, who attempts to serve as chaperon to Miss 
Howe and Miss Ashton in the face of many obstacles, furnish 
an evening of rare enjoyment. Price 15 cents. 

THE PENN PUBLISHING COMPANY 

PHILADELPHIA 



The Power of Expression 

Expression and efficiency go hand in hand. 

The power of clear and forceful expression brings confi- 
dence and poise at all times — in private gatherings, in public 
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Successful public speaking 

Effective recitals 

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A catalogue giving full information as to how any of these 
accomplishments may be attained will be sent free on request 

THE NATIONAL SCHOOL OF 
ELOCUTION AND ORATORY 

Parkway Building Philadelphia 




